


Sing a little prayer to me

by forever_nerd



Series: February fun 2021 [1]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: CMNF, Embarrassed Chloe Decker, F/M, First Time, Fuckruary 2021, Horny Chloe Decker, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Season 4 episode 9 Canon Divergent, Sexual Content, This is not a manual for praying, horny devil, praying, soft devil, supernatural bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:28:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29173398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forever_nerd/pseuds/forever_nerd
Summary: What if Maze had never kidnapped Kinley? What if Lucifer never left for Hell?A one-shot about the Devil getting the RIGHT prayer content
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Series: February fun 2021 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141664
Comments: 34
Kudos: 215





	Sing a little prayer to me

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO FEBRUARY
> 
> This has not been betaed.

It's been a while since she allowed herself this pleasure. Between the mind numbing terror and the guilt that was plaguing her, as well as his painful absence after that awful confrontation, she never really felt in the mood for this sort of thing. Add in the usual craziness of being a working mom and really sex and orgasms have been the last thing on her mind.

But things have changed.

Ever since he ended things with Eve, ever since  _ that _ night at his penthouse, things have been  _ different _ .

He has this way of looking at her... Like she's the answer to that damn thing he keeps asking left and right, whenever she tells him to.

_ What is it that you truly desire? _

_ You _ , his eyes tell her with a depth and a seriousness she finds hard to process. Eyes captivating and dark yet bright, in the same way the night sky is lit by millions of stars.

_ His _ , if she is to believe the stories. She'd like to know but she's too frightened to ask after having messed things up in the beginning.

After asking all the wrong questions, she feels like she doesn't deserve this sort of intimacy with him.

But she wants it. 

This intimacy and...  _ other _ kinds as well. 

She thinks of how he looked today. 

Dressed in his blue suit that somehow made the chocolate in his eyes pop out even more. Thinks of the way his hand had lingered on her waist after helping her climb those blessed crates. 

And that look, that simmering intensity, that almost naked desire, that made her heart flutter like a helpless hummingbird.

And she wants- she wants _ so much.  _

But... 

The damage she caused feels almost irreparable. 

And she’s too much of a coward to take that next step.

But still, she can't help herself. She can't censor her desires, at least not in the privacy of her own thoughts.

So, it's no surprise that when she closes her eyes the only person she can conjure up is him. 

Those eyes, his hands, his lips... everywhere.

And no matter how awkward and embarrassing it might prove to be for her she decides to throw caution to the wind and just get on with it.

And get off in the process as well.

(She really thinks he would have been particularly proud of that pun.)

Her fantasy is simple really. 

He visits her, just like he used to. 

He drinks her cheap wine and teases her relentlessly for it, his smile bright and happy. 

Trusting.

And then, after games and laughter, on her (considerably cheaper than his) sofa, he tells her that he wants her.

Despite her terrible mistakes and betrayal. 

Despite the terrible mess they’ve made of things.

(Selfish, she knows. But this is her fantasy and besides, here no one’s heart will be broken.)

She kisses him, her mouth soft, tentative at first and tells him that it’s  _ always _ been him. 

And gone are the feather light kisses-the only kind she has ever known from his lips really.

He crashes into her like a wave, twirling her like a grain of sand into the whorls of his desire. He takes her clothes off slowly, kissing every bit of skin revealed. Her fingers follow the trail of her thoughts and behind closed lids she can see him staring at her, hungry and wanting and his name reverberates in her mind with such desperate longing that it might as well be worship. 

But the things that follow are rather unholy. It's his fault really. All his bragging over the years has made her that much more aware of all his  _ skills _ . So, it's no wonder that part of her fantasy is that beautiful face stuck between her thighs, eagerly lapping at her wetness. Her hands grab fistfuls of hair and his hands wrap around her thighs, pulling her closer still, his moans as loud as hers. She withdraws her fingers and takes her vibrator, pressing it against her clit as she imagines him licking and sucking it between those perfect lips. As she imagines him staring at her with those piercing eyes when she comes on his tongue.

Her orgasm is a quiet affair; her mouth presses into her pillow, half-open in ecstacy and his name is a breathless exhalation of rapture in the stillness of her bedroom and the only thought in her mind. 

"I love you," she tells him as he kisses her, his smile proud and self-satisfied. 

And because it's her fantasy, he says it back with no hesitation, no fear.

She melts into her mattress, tired but loose limbed and relaxed in a way she has not been for a long time.

Sleep comes fast and when she dreams, she dreams of him.

*************************

Her next day is so hectic that she barely has time to think of her nighttime activities. She gets called in for a double homicide so she doesn't even have time to drop by the station. She texts him the address as always without sparing any thought and makes her way there.

When he arrives, she's too preoccupied with the two bodies to realize how flustered he is. 

He’s there in her peripheral vision, a beautiful flurry of dark designer wool, with hands that are busy either smoothing out his already perfectly coiffed hair or rubbing his lightly stubbled cheeks.

"Lucifer, come have a look at this," she calls him, eyes focusing on the way the bodies have been positioned. 

"Hmmm." 

His breath is hot at the back of her neck and unwittingly she's taken back to her little fantasy. She straightens too fast, bumping into him and he steadies her, his hand a hot brand on her skin even over her plaid jacket.

"Sorry," she murmurs, trying really hard not to flush bright red like a tomato. She knew this was a possibility. She tamps down her embarrassment and clears her throat turning back to the bodies. "So, what do you think?"

"Um, threesome gone bad?" he offers while patting down his pockets, probably looking for his flask. 

She takes off her glove and slips her hand in his jacket, pulling it out of his breast pocket. She realizes belatedly that it might have been a bit inappropriate and this time her blush is unavoidable. She hands him the flask awkwardly and turns to Ella who is still snapping pictures. 

They talk about possible time of death and the murder weapon and go through pictures and the man's wallet. All the while, Lucifer remains by her side, silent and almost serious, which is so unlike him that doubts start to creep in.

She catches him watching her, his eyes pensive, confused and… embarrassed? 

Which is weird because Lucifer  _ does not get  _ embarrassed.

She looks away quickly, a new blush painting her cheeks red. Her heartbeat grows faster as questions spring up like mushrooms.

Does he  _ know _ ? 

How would that even be possible?

_ It can't. _

Not unless he's somehow constantly watching her and he would never do that.

No. There's absolutely no way he can know. It's impossible. He's most likely reacting to her own awkwardness and general weirdness. 

That's probably it.

That’s  _ definitely _ it. 

So, all she needs to do is pull herself together.

The entire department probably uses Lucifer Morningstar as spank bank material so really she just needs to chill. And besides if it doesn't work (because honestly how often  _ does _ she chill?) she can always fake nonchalance. 

She did use to be an actress.

**************************

It turns out she needn't have worried. Their next two days go by incredibly fast, chasing leads across the city like balls in a pinball machine. And Lucifer is almost his usual self, except the few times when he disappears with half chewed excuses and a troubled expression, only to reappear just as cryptically.

It's not entirely out of character so she doesn't worry about it too much. 

Her nights are too busy with work and Trixie and in the end burdened with such exhaustion that she has no time and no mind to revisit her little fantasy.

By the time they solve the case a few days later, she has all but forgotten her irrational thoughts and well since she will be alone again she’s considering taking full advantage of her loneliness. 

At least that's her plan until something unexpected happens. 

"Detective," he starts, sounding nervous. He moves closer and drops his voice some, his eyes avoiding hers. "There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about. Would you like to come over for a drink tonight?" 

They used to do this before Pierce. She would meet him at the penthouse to drink and chat or vent, depending on the kind of day or week she was having. And he would listen, all of his attention, the gravity of those dark eyes focused exclusively on her. For a while, Kinley had ruined that for her. Every look, every word was shadowed by suspicion and malicious intent.

To have him invite her back to this little tradition of theirs makes her heart swell. Makes hope desperate to stretch free, like the petals of a flower that can't unfurl fast enough when faced with the brilliance of the sun.

And she's been without his light for too long. She doesn't want to consider the possibility of bad news. But she feels compelled to ask.

"Has something... bad happened?" she asks, full of apprehension.

"Bad?" he parrots her, as if testing the word on his tongue. "No, I wouldn't say bad. At least not for me."

"Oh. Okay, then. Does after 8 sound okay?"

"Sounds great, Detective," he says with a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and leaves.

  
  


At home, she has a bath in a vain effort to relax but it's no use. Her mind is a whirlwind of possibilities, dragging her thoughts to a million different directions. She spends too much time trying to decide on an outfit. In the end, she chooses a slightly more polished version of her usuals - dark skinny jeans and a red shirt.

So maybe it's silk.

Maybe it cuts dangerously low.

Sue her. She wants to look nice.

When she gets to the penthouse he's sitting at the bar, the decanter almost empty next to him, the ashtray full of cigarette stumps. 

He's nervous. That much is glaringly obvious. Her reaction of course is immediate. The butterflies in her stomach turn into horrendous pterodactyls, the steady trot of her heartbeat into a gallop.

"Detective, welcome," he says, standing up and gesturing to the seat next to his.

_ Are you okay? _ she wants to ask but the words dissolve in her throat, tasting like iron, like fear. 

"Hi," she barely manages and moves to sit next to him. 

"A drink?" he offers, ever the consummate host.

"Yes, please." 

Drinking was supposed to help her relax tonight, maybe loosen any inhibitions, not help her get through a night that suddenly feels ominous.

He hands her the glass, his smile polite but his eyes anxious. She takes a long swing and lets the burn of the whiskey burn away her fears.

"So? What did you want to talk about?" 

No point in wasting time with small talk. Better to be done with it, whatever it is, as fast as possible.

Like a bandaid. 

Fast and quite likely painful.

He pulls another cigarette to his lips and for a moment she just stares at his mouth, the way his lips wrap around the bundle of tobacco and she feels so  _ absurdly _ jealous.

"Would you care for one, Detective?" he asks, offering the case to her, thankfully misinterpreting the obvious longing in her eyes.

"Um, no." The blush that covers her cheeks is unwelcome since she has other things to worry about right now besides her unrequited desires. "You're stalling. Spit it out, Lucifer. You're making me nervous."

"Right. Yes, of course." He takes another long drag of his cigarette and then puts it out. His hands rake through his hair making it even messier. "Well, Detective...  _ Chloe _ . I've been in two minds about sharing this with you. I feel like you ought to be informed but I fear you might react... unfavourably. Things have been...  _ hard _ for me these past few days.” A hysterical giggle slips past his lips before he sobers up again. “But I can't  _ not  _ tell you." 

"Ookay," she agrees reluctantly, trying to think how she might have offended him. "I'm sorry if I did something that hurt you. I-"

"No, Detective, no. Nothing of that sort. Here goes nothing," he says and downs his drink. He takes a deep breath, his eyes boring into hers; they are dark and captivating, traps whose binds are already tightly wound around her. She wants to sink into their depths, to let him envelop--

"I  _ heard _ you," he says meaningfully, interrupting her thoughts, his voice low, secretive. 

"You _ heard _ me," she repeats confused, the words sounding more like a question from her lips. "When? Did I say something that offended you somehow? I promise I-"

"Detective. _ Chloe _ . I heard you. A few nights ago." His eyes are wide, beseeching. Begging for her understanding but her expression remains blank as her mind races back trying to pinpoint the moment he's referring to. "You were...  _ thinking  _ of me," he adds, looking redder than she's ever seen him-well in this form at least.

"Thinking of you? But then how did you hear me?" she asks, the last few words coming out slower, more strained, like walking against the current in a river. 

Until the reality of what he is saying  _ actually _ sinks in.

"You mean...  _ When I was. _ ...?" she chokes out, trying to wrap her mind around such an impossibility.

" _ Yes. _ "

" _ No _ ," she says, dragging the _ o. _

She's on her feet before she realizes it, pacing in front of the bar, her hands covering her horrifyingly embarrassed expression.

She stops the pacing and stares at him accusingly, feeling hurt and betrayed.

"Were you  _ stalking  _ me?"

" _ What _ ? Of course not, Detective. I was right here, playing some Liszt on the piano when suddenly I--" he cuts himself off, his face an amalgam of too many emotions. He turns away from her, busying himself by pouring more whiskey in his glass. He tops it off and then guzzles it all down at once.

"Then how?  _ Why _ ?" she asks, desperate to focus on  _ that _ rather than the fact that he heard her masturbating session. 

Which again,  _ how on earth _ is it even possible?

"Is it like your super strength? Is it a Devil thing? Do you like, _ tune in _ when people...?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" he counters, sounding offended. "I respect privacy, especially during a decent wanking. This was your fault.  _ Your  _ doing."

"How the hell was this  _ my _ fault?" she asks, blindsided and a little angry.

"Well, you were practically _ begging _ me to listen!" He is standing too now, his posture defensive. "You were thinking of me with such intent that when you called my name... You ... you actually  _ prayed _ to me. And I heard you. I heard _ all  _ of it." 

"Prayed?" she parrots, at a loss of words, missing entirely just how ominous that  _ all  _ sounded.

His expression changes suddenly. His lips curl into a sad smile and he picks up the decanter taking a long swing from it. Then he touches its lip to his chest and whispers surrendered,

"Former archangel, Detective. Remember?"

She  _ knows  _ that. __

Hours of worthless research and wooden preaching had ensured that.

_ How you have fallen from heaven. Oh morning star, son of the dawn. _

"So, prayers are a thing, huh?" she asks, trying to steer the conversation away from her.

"Not really. Not  _ always. _ One needs to be open to receiving, willing to listen. And there needs to be intent. And... You wanted to be heard. Wanted to share those thoughts. And you did."

"Are you privy to everyone's.....?" she asks with a grimace, feeling increasingly horrified for him. 

"No. I am not open to receiving prayers or  _ otherwise _ . The people who pray to the Devil... Let's just say... they are not exactly  _ fun _ . But  _ you _ , Chloe... I always want to listen to you."

The gravity, the sweetness of his words is lost to her as her panic rises once more, inevitably, like the tide. 

_ "Oh God, _ " she whispers, covering her face the way an ostrich hides her head under the ground. At his pained groan she becomes more aware of the meaning of this well worn phrase and feels even worse. "Shit!" she shouts, feeling angry, absolutely mortified and exposed.

"I'm sorry," she whispers behind the shield of her hands. "Did you just hear your name or...?" she trails off, unwilling to outright ask him if he saw her personalised porn play out in his mind as well.

"I told you, Detective. You shared your thoughts. That includes your... _ fantasy _ as well."

_ Shit, shit, shit. _

She can't even look at him. "That was practically sexual harassment," she thinks aloud as the details of her fantasy flash through her mind's eye. 

"Sexual haras-! Chloe, that is  _ not  _ why…” he exhales heavily, obviously distraught. “I am not blaming you or trying to embarrass you. I am not telling you this so that you won't do it again. By all means, do it  _ as often as _ you desire,” he says with a brittle laugh. “Had I not told you though, I would feel like a creepy voyeur the next time it happened." 

She lowers her hands, leaving her eyes unobstructed and stares at him. Trying to read between the lines.

He reaches out slowly and pries her fingers away from her face. "I'd much rather you didn't hide your face from me. I quite enjoy looking at it, even if you look a bit like a tomato right now." 

She scoffs at him and his ridiculous efforts to put her at ease.

"There's a more selfish reason why I chose to breach the subject though. May I ask you something, Detective?"

"There are hardly any secrets left now, are there?”

"Au contraire, Detective. Did you..." He cuts himself off, his expression pensive. "Why did you fantasize about me?" he asks then, honest and vulnerable, with no hint of teasing.

She blushes furiously, not the least bit ready for this confession. But here they are. And she can't bear the thought of lying to him. Never again.

"Was it my admittedly oral expertise?" he asks with a roguish smile that makes her lips curl a little. "Or was it...  _ more _ ?" His voice is so shy, so hopeful that she feels her eyes water. 

"Lucifer... It's always been more for me," she admits, her heart beating like a hummingbird's wings.

"So, let me get this right. You are not only interested in my cunning linguistic skills," a laugh bubbles out of her mouth which makes him smile brightly and she can't help herself, not when he looks so happy, so she stands on her tiptoes and kisses him. It's a small, fleeting touch of lips and as she pulls away their eyes meet. 

"More?" he asks again, those dark eyes mesmerizing.

"Not just more, no. All."

There's wonder and surprise in his eyes which is  _ wrong _ . It's so wrong and it breaks her heart that she too has played her part in making him feel so unworthy of love.

"Don't look at me like that," she warns him, close to tears.

"Like what?" he asks confused.

"Like it's more than you deserve. Like you're not worth it."

His eyes grow unbearably soft and he cups her face gently, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones, and presses his lips to hers again.

He tastes of whiskey and smoke and she wants him so much but he  _ has _ to know.

"You  _ are _ worth it. You are the most forgiving person I know. You are generous and kind and you've always been there for me. I-"

This time his kiss is not a mere press of lips. This time he pushes her against the bar and his body is a blazing wall of chiseled muscle as his tongue tangles with hers.

"You should know," she pants as he kisses along the column of her throat, trying to gather every bit of courage that she has, "that I love you." He stills , his sudden exhale hot on her skin. Seconds pass and she is certain that she's ruined the moment, ruined this chance when his lips find her pulse point and kiss it gently.

"My first love was never Eve. It was you, Chloe," he whispers into her neck and her heart swells with unexpected happiness. His mouth returns to her lips, his hand tangling in her hair, tilting her head up to deepen their kiss. 

His lips are soft and plump enough to be perfect for biting. When she does so, he groans low in his throat, his hands digging in her ribs, sending fire licking all over her skin.

“Have no doubt that any fantasy, any desire you may have is also my own. When your thoughts found me, when I realized what was happening, I was so overwhelmed with desire that I came untouched with your moans echoing in my mind and my fingers still on the keys,” he whispers hotly at the shell of your ear. “The idea of you in your bed, touching yourself while thinking of me- of my mouth on you- it has undone me.I have been walking around since that moment with a raging stiffy that no amount of wanking has been able to diminish. I would look at you and think of the shake of your breath as you came, my name in your voice silencing any other thought in my mind. The sweetest torture I have ever come upon. Looks like you did pick up a thing or two by the Devil’s side,” he teases, his teeth tagging softly at her earlobe. 

She laughs shakily, feeling weak all over, swept away by her desire, his words, the craving in his voice. He kisses her on the lips, slow and sweet, and for the first time she lets her hands wander away from their perch on his chest. They slip under his waistcoat, feeling the firm muscles beneath and she wants all his clothes gone, wants to worship every bit of him with lips and tongue and touch.

“Chloe,” he whispers and she shivers at the silk of his voice, the devastating want that unravels with two mere syllables. “If you so desire, I would see all your fantasies fulfilled.”

“What about your desires?” she asks, voice almost trembling with want.

“Oh darling, I told you. Any desire you have is also my own. Besides, I’ve wanted a taste of you since that first moment we met. Strong and willful, untouched by my charms. You tickled my fancy more so than anyone I had ever met. The desire only grew with time, always unattainable even when it felt almost within reach. I have never known such a hankering. I have fantasized too many times of tasting you, of hearing your voice on the brink of ecstacy. And now that I have an inkling of what that is like, I want more.”

He takes a step back and she misses the heat of him at once. He offers his hand in invitation and nothing feels more right than her fingers interlocking with his. He brings her hand to his lips, kissing each knuckle as he pulls her to his bed.

He sits and draws her between his legs, his hands gliding from the top of her shoulders down to her hips, his touch feverishly hot even over her clothes. He undresses her slowly when all she wants is to shed their clothes as fast as humanly or devilishly possible. 

And while he pops those buttons out of their eyelets, his eyes remain glued to hers, hungry in a way she has never before seen. When he pushes her shirt down her shoulders, his lips glide softer than silk on her skin; the moan that escapes her when he places an open mouthed kiss between her breasts is mostly one of sweet relief-relief to finally have his mouth on her.

He pulls her into his lap then, his arms bracketing her back as deft fingers unclasp her bra and pull the straps down her arms slowly until finally, blessedly, that damn thing is off. He runs his fingers on her skin, the pads gently circling her areolas and she feels as if she might combust.

“Lucifer,” she whimpers needy and wanting, her own fingers raking down his waistcoat desperate to touch skin.  _ “Please _ .”

He pulls her to him for yet another kiss, one that is pure sin, that makes her panties feel much wetter as his tongue and teeth make her melt into his arms.

“Your voice, husky and desirous, is music to my ears. But don’t rush me, Detective. Let me savour this. Lean back and allow me to admire you.”

She too wants his every desire met so she does as he asks and leans back, his hand on her back her anchor. She watches him as his eyes snake over her body, painted darker with this hunger that keeps on growing. He brings her closer to him, kissing a line along her collarbones and then down between her breasts. She’s so desperate for him that she trembles with the force of her want in his arms, nails digging into the pristine fabric of his shirt, feeling the strong muscles beneath. When his lips finally wrap around her nipple she moans shakily, the sensation travelling down to her core, making her sex throb with want. He twists and lays her on the bed, continuing his kisses and licks, keeping his hands unfortunately above her waistline. Her fingers slip into his hair and tag every time his teeth drag on her skin and she can feel his smile stretching against her. When his tongue finally traces the waistline of her jeans she feels so close- like the mere weight of his breath on her skin will unravel her.

He pulls down her jeans and panties, fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs as he slowly drags them down. He climbs up again slowly, lips and teeth trailing up to where she’s aching for him. When his breath finally ghosts over wet, swollen flesh she shivers uncontrollably, pleasure and anticipation making for a heady combination. He wraps one of his hands around her thigh, his fingers splaying over her hip bone, tethering her to him. 

His kisses that set of lips in the same way as the other; he lays small, languorous kisses all over, kisses that make her crave for more. But his self control thankfully crumples and he pulls her lips between his, his kisses turning wet and suckling, his tongue dragging over her opening, lapping up at her arousal, his moans mingling with hers. 

He kisses her again and again, the sounds wet and lewd and her fingers rake over his scalp and tighten on his hair, hanging from a single thread- one that he snaps easily with the push of his finger inside her. She clenches around him, her body convulsing in a fit of ecstasy, his name a breathless plea on her lips. He only pulls her closer, still kissing, still rubbing his finger against that sweet spot, her orgasm a wave that crests and recedes and crests again. 

When he has all but consumed every morsel of her pleasure he climbs up her body, his lips leaving a smattering of kisses on their way. His mouth and chin are wet with her and when he kisses her, her taste lingers on his tongue and she’s ravenous for him all over again. 

“You taste like me,” she rasps, wrapping her legs around his still clothed hips. His erection pushes against her, long and hard and as hot as he looks in his suits, she wants it gone _ right now. _

“I want your taste on my tongue every day. I want to hear you make these sounds _ every bloody _ day. My name has never sounded so good. Now tell me… Did I live up to your fantasy?”

“You have exceeded it by far. A cunning linguist indeed," she compliments, her breaths still shallow.

“Well, they don’t call it the Devil’s doorbell for nothing,” he says, waggling his eyebrows and making her laugh. "But, the source material was rather brilliant."

"Well, I have others to share with you if you like.”

“ _ Please do _ . I want them all.”

She closes her eyes and thinks of him, calls his name, wanting him to know just how much she wants to pleasure him; needing him to know how she wants his cock, warm and heavy between her lips. 

His lips crash to hers, rapacious and wild.

“That looks bloody fantastic,” he whispers against her lips. Then she thinks of herself on top, riding him slow and sensual with his hands dragging on her skin.

He groans and grinds against her, his shoulders trembling under her hands.

“I hope you don’t have any plans, Detective. It’s going to be a delightfully long night.”

“Lucky for you, I am free.” 

She thinks of his cock in her mouth again and he groans.

Who knew praying could be so much fun?

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Fuckruary y'all!!!
> 
> I hope you're enjoying yourselves. 
> 
> I SO AM.


End file.
